The walk home blurred into nightmare visions—Jace sprinting through minefields of film reels， tail ablaze like a comet's wake.

Your key scratched the lock thrice before catching.

Steam from the shower couldn't purge the image: Jace's hospital bed morphing into a gilded cage， his once-proud ears pressed flat against starched pillows.

Fogged mirror revealed unconscious tracings—a charcoal sketch of drooping wolfdog ears you'd drawn with trembling fingers.

Somewhere beyond the tiles' clinical whiteness， a predator turned patient counted ceiling cracks， phantom paw pads itching for terrain they'd never scent again.

---

Rehabilitation sessions became sacred rituals.

Your palm hovered near his empty right pant leg， feeling tremors ripple through his abdominal muscles as he shuffled forward. Winter light carved his profile into something spectral—sweat pooling in clavicular hollows like liquid mercury.

“Shift left，“ you coached， fingers brushing air where flesh should be.

He reached the window on the fifth attempt， trembling hands gripping the sill. Snowflakes crystallized on the glass behind him as he flashed that fragile smile.“Passable?“

“Remarkable.“

His ears quivered.“Kael used those exact words...after I broke the obstacle course record.“

#

Valentine's dusk found you sculpting lopsided snowdogs in the courtyard. Frostbite pinkened his fingertips as he carved pointed ears.“Proper posture ensures optimal hearing，“ he murmured， military precision overriding play.

The first firework detonated at 1900 hours.

Jace's prosthesis screeched against ice as combat reflexes locked his joints. Pyrotechnic blooms detonated in his pupils—Yunnan's monsoons resurrected in chemical sparks.

“Don't listen.“ You cupped his bomb-blasted ears， catching tears that burned colder than the snowfall.

When silence reclaimed the night， you asked the question rotting your ribs:

“You knew that bomb was live.“

He paused for a moment， then he shook his head:“It's nothing. Maybe the props team made a mistake... It's all in the past.“

You looked into his eyes. Those beautiful eyes were filled with trust in humanity; even now， he still believed it was just an accident.

“Why?“ Your voice is soft，“Why hold onto it if you know it's not a blank?“

He turned his head to look at you， with eyes filling with a hint of confusion， as if you had asked a very silly question.

“If I hadn't carried it away， all those people behind me...“ His voice was as light as a feather，“They will be blown up.“

……

His prosthesis crunched through ice-crust as he stood. You watched him adjust his weight distribution—sniper calculating windage， K-9 officer protecting the pack.

Cold fury crystallized in your marrow.

Qin wouldn't just face prison.

He'd face _you_.

——

The morning rounds began with fragile hope.

“Feeling better?“ You flipped through his chart.

Jace braced against the bedframe， rising like a war monument reforged. The prosthetic leg whined with each step—mechanical stiffness betraying the agony beneath.

“Look.“ His tail twitched with poorly concealed pride as he shuffled across sunlit tiles. Stripes of light from the blinds painted tiger stripes across his sweat-dampened shirt.“I can—“

A gasp escaped him when the prosthetic's socket grated against raw flesh.

“Easy.“ You steadied his elbow.“This temporary prosthesis isn't neuro-linked yet. We'll—“

“Neuro-linked?“ His ears snapped forward， amber eyes igniting.“You mean...I could _run_?“

The lie tasted like ash.“Technology advances daily. Soon you'll—“

Your phone screamed.

Zoe's voice crackled through static:“Run! He's coming to—“

Qin's laughter drowned her warning.“Playing detective with mutt guts? Let's see how heroic you look burned to—“

The door is locked.

That scumbag dared to set fire in the hospital!

The first tendrils of smoke licked through the doorframe.

Jace moved before the phone hit the floor—ripping sheets with military precision， soaking and knotting fabric into a makeshift rope. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the agony grinding against his stump.

“Trust me?“

The wheelchair shattered the window with a gunshot crack. Below， the lawn yawned like an emerald grave.

“Go.“ He secured the rope around your waist， hands steady as sniper scopes.

Children's screams pierced the smoke.

“Jace!“ You clawed at his wrist.“You can't—“

He turned with a smile so tender it shattered your resolve.“Did you forget?“ Calloused fingers brushed your cheek.“It's my oath as a K-9 officer.“

The last you saw: his prosthetic gleaming like a silver blade as he vanished into smoke， tail raised high as any battle standard.

——

When the firefighters arrived， Jace emerged from the inferno cradling a child.

His body resembled cracked porcelain， the bandages at his severed limb weeping crimson. Yet he balanced on his remaining leg with the precision of a metronome's final swing.

“Shh， you're safe now.“ His soot-blackened palm barely grazed the child's singged hair as he shifted toward the crew chief. What happened next made veteran firefighters catch their breath - the amputee snapped a textbook military salute， three fingers pressed to his temple.

“Reporting， Commander. K-9 Unit 0719， Jace.“

He held the position like bamboo stalk snapped mid-length yet refusing to bend， trembling not from weakness but the aftershocks of overclocked adrenaline.

#

The aftermath detonated like phosphorus.

Your habitual phone recording became the detonator. Viral footage showed bloodstains blooming across the bandaged stump of his leg like macabre roses， hospital gown fluttering like a battle standard. When the camera caught his smoke-raw eyes lifting toward the lens， three million viewers simultaneously forgot to breathe.

——

You're changing Jace's dressings when the storm breaks.

He perches on the hospital bed like a broken statue， canine ears twitching like radar dishes scanning the hallway's whispers. Suddenly those ears snap erect - his tail betrayed a single hopeful twitch before curling tight against his thigh.

The man in the doorway makes oxygen molecules crystallize.

Sunlight glints off campaign stars crusting the old soldier's shoulders， each medal a fossilized battlefield. Kael's face could weather monsoons， but those eyes remain Damascus steel freshly honed.

Jace's tail thumps the mattress once. Twice. Then folds itself into guilty stillness， ears flattening against matted hair.

“Jace.“

The name detonates with parade-ground precision. You feel the vibration in your molars as the colonel's cane strikes linoleum.“Did I raise a son or a ghost?“

Each step echoes like artillery report.“Must I wait for strangers to deliver your obituary before learning how my own son chose to die?“

“Sir， your pacemaker—“

“This heart's survived three bullet wounds!“ The cane cracks against bedside rails.“While yours apparently thinks shrapnel makes charming accessories!“

When the calloused palm swings upward， Jace's breath hitches - but the hand meant to strike became a trembling cradle， hovering above silver-streaked hair. The colonel's fingers remember this motion from monsoon nights in Yunnan， when thunderstorms made frightened pups of them all.

“This documentary crew...“ Kael's voice fractures as he turns to you. You catch his elbow just as decades of battlefield poise crumbles， guiding him to a chair where water glass trembles in his grip.

“Colonel.“ You summon every scrap of courtroom calm.“The evidence.“

His thumb moves across your phone screen like a general surveying tactical maps， until—

A wet， jagged sound escapes him. The device shakes as it displays Qin's sneer:Stray dogs die quieter.

Somewhere beneath the fluorescent hornet-drone of clinic lights，

Jace picks at the chafed skin around his prosthetic port glowing an angry red. The man who charges through collapsing buildings now sits drowning in silence， rainwater still dripping from his eyelashes twenty years too late.

——

Kael returns the phone with the solemnity of passing a battlefield commendation. His gaze locks onto Jace， who sits straighter despite the morphine drip in his arm.

“Recite the oath， son.“

Jace's ears perk up with military crispness. The words emerge roughened by smoke inhalation yet precise as sniper fire:“Stand ready to sacrifice all in defense of our people's lives and dignity.“

The colonel's hand lingers in the younger man's hair， fingers tracing a shrapnel scar hidden beneath matted strands.“We'll amend that vow tonight.“ His thumb brushes the curve of Jace's canine ear - a gesture older than either's wounds.

“Only defend those worthy of your fire. As for demons...“

The oxygen machine hisses through his pause.

“This old hound still has teeth.“